Ring of the Or'tux, page 41
Larus nodded, barely giving Garin more than a passing glance. His attention was on Father Thomas who had come to a stop. “Where to now?” he asked.
Looking first one way then the other, Father Thomas sought the sense of safety which had been directing their path for the past hour or so. But all he felt was an almost overpowering sense of dread and impending doom. “I do not know,” he replied. Turning his attention full onto Larus, he said, “I think this is as far as it is going to take us.”
More voices were arising in the forest indicating others were joining in the pursuit. From the sound of them, soldiers were all over the place.
Hunter came and grabbed Larus by the shoulder, turning his attention toward the lake. “Look!” he exclaimed quietly as he pointed down the beach to their right. One small watercraft sat on the sand, next to which stood six men with swords drawn. Their attention was currently fixed toward the forest, searching. He then indicated a second vessel, much larger than the smaller one, moored a hundred feet from shore. “I think that’s the boat that has been giving Captain Hopewell’s men such problems.”
It was a merchantman suitable for plying the waters between towns bordering on the lake. Its deep draft kept it from coming too close to shore, but such would prove beneficial for sailing through the deeper water. Larus caught sight of a catapult’s arm just behind the prow. A dozen archers stood at the railing gazing toward the hullabaloo transpiring within the forest.
“We have to take that ship,” Larus stated.
“No way can we do that,” argued Garin. He too had seen the catapult. “If the catapult doesn’t get us, their arrows will.”
Father Thomas’ anxiety and sense of dread was increasing exponentially as they stood idle within the trees. They had to get moving. “Larus,” he began but was interrupted by the sudden appearance of armed men appearing amidst the trees some two hundred feet deeper within the forest.
“There they are!” one man cried as he spied them.
“Move!” Larus ordered and practically shoved Father Thomas all the way from the trees and onto the beach. As he and Father Thomas left the shelter of the trees, the six men guarding the smaller craft immediately took notice and charged.
“Hunter!” Larus shouted. “Get the boat!” Then switching from English he said, “Garin, let’s go.” With the young man quick to follow, he drew his sword and raced to engage the enemy. As Garin sped to come abreast of him he heard the young man give out with a war cry. “Do this fast,” he advised. He just had enough time to see Garin nod before the battle was joined.
Moving with speed greater than that of any human, Larus knocked the sword of the first man to engage him aside before running him through. Kicking the soon to be dead man off his sword, he ducked under an overhand hack delivered by another. With his free hand, he struck out and connected with the soldier’s chest. He heard an ‘oomph’ as the soldier was knocked backward into two of his comrades.
Metal rang on metal as Garin’s sword deflected a thrust by one of the two men engaging him. A quick dodge to the side to avoid a follow through slice by the man’s partner, then he brought his sword back around and opened a six inch cut along the first man’s upper arm.
“Yeah!” he cried as he kicked out at the second soldier, causing him to dance backward.
As the two men fought, Father Thomas and Hunter raced around the combatants to the small boat several yards up the beach from the water. One of the soldiers started moving to intercept them but was stopped by a sudden attack by Larus. His death cry sounded above the clash of metal as they reached the boat.
It had three benches and could comfortably seat half a dozen men, a full dozen if they squeezed in. Lying along the bottom beneath the benches was a pair of oars.
“Get in, Father,” Hunter said, gesturing for the priest to enter the boat first.
Dozens of men began boiling out of the forest all along the beach. Father Thomas scrambled over the side and took position on the middle seat. Hunter made ready to push the boat into the water when suddenly, Larus and Garin were there beside him, having taken out the remaining soldiers.
As one the three men pushed the boat into the water. First Garin then Hunter jumped in. Father Thomas had the oars in position by the time Larus was out of the water. Rowing for all he was worth, the small boat began pulling away from the shore.
Soldiers rushed into the water in pursuit. Their shouts and cries warred with the sound of their splashing as they made for the boat. At the stern, Larus and Garin made ready to meet them.
“Pull harder!” Larus shouted. Striking out as the men drew near, he took one in the neck while the lethality of Garin’s blade felled another. The water turned red as a third man fell to Larus. Garin thrust at one but the man dodged backward just in time to avoid being struck.
The water was growing deeper and the soldiers were now up to their chest and grew increasingly unable to close the distance to the boat. Finally, the men in the water realized they were not going to reach the fleeing boat and stopped their watery pursuit. Shouts of anger, of warning, and even demands for them to stop spewed forth as the small craft steadily pulled away from shore.
Cleaning his blade in the water of the lake, Larus gazed out toward the large merchantman. Up in the riggings men were quickly unfurling sails and he saw where the anchor was being drawn from the water. Still too far away for their arrows to be effective, the archers stood watching, waiting for the time when the ship was underway and the distance was no longer so great. Once his blade was clean, dry, and back in its scabbard, Larus relieved Father Thomas at the oars.
Upon his first pull, the boat practically leapt from the water. As his fourth stroke propelled them along, the merchantman’s sails filled with wind and the ship turned in pursuit.
“We’ll never outrun them,” Garin asserted. From his position in the rear of the boat, he watched as the merchantman finished coming about, and with full sails, rapidly began closing the gap.
Larus knew the truth as well. It was only a matter of minutes before the merchantman came within catapult range. And when that happened…
Ullentite soldiers up and down the shoreline stood watching the events unfolding upon the water. Any attempt to land their small craft would be met with heavy resistance. Somewhere to the south, too far to as yet be visible, was the relative sanctuary of Xith. Pulling hard, Larus struggled to maintain what distance he could between themselves and the ever approaching, archer filled, catapult bearing, merchantman.
Struggle though he may, the distance between them steadily decreased. Scant minutes passed before an archer launched an arrow toward their small craft. Not nearly close enough, the wind altered the trajectory of the missile causing it to miss its target by a wide margin.
Whum!
Father Thomas turned his gaze toward the merchantman and watched in horror as from its prow, the enemy catapult sent forth a rain of small stones. “Casdralla preserve us!” he prayed. The aim was true and the deadly missiles arced straight for them.
“Thank you, Father,” Ftheril said as he moved to interpose himself between his charges and the rain of stones. Time slowed as he altered the course of the deadly missiles so they splashed harmlessly into the water scant feet from the wooden stern of the small watercraft.
He grinned at the Qyaendri who accompanied the enemy’s ship. Theroch’s servant glared impotently back at Ftheril, unable to act due to the lack of prayers of his charges. A single uttered prayer by even one of the men on the merchantman, and the outcome could have been quite different.
As a volley of arrows followed a short time later Ftheril caused them also to miss their target since he was free to act because of the beseeching prayers of Father Thomas. But there was only so much even a Qyaendri could do. He simply could not bat them out of the air. It had to be done in such a way that the mortals who were watching would not suspect Qyaendri involvement. So as the merchantman drew closer, it became more difficult to protect his charges.
Whum!
Another volley of stones arced toward the small craft. Once again slowing time, Ftheril continued working to protect the men fleeing in the small watercraft.
“We have to do something!” Hunter shouted to Larus.
Cutting through the water at a speed greater than any thought possible, the small craft practically flew across the surface. But still, the merchantman continued to gain. Larus realized that desperate times called for desperate action.
“Garin!” he shouted to get the young man’s attention.
His gaze drawn from watching the approaching merchantman, Garin turned toward Larus.
“When I fall, signal the ship that you surrender!” Larus ordered.
“But…” Garin began before the meaning of Larus’ words registered. “What do you mean?”
“Arrows!” shouted Hunter as another flight was launched from the merchantman.
“Just do it!” insisted Larus. Then, the arrows fell among them.
Ahhhh!
Father Thomas turned toward the cry just in time to see Larus flop over the side of the boat and into the water. Before Larus completely disappeared from sight, he saw the feathered end of one of the enemy’s arrows. “No!” he cried as he moved to where Larus disappeared. Looking over the side, all he could see was an ever widening ripple from where Larus had gone under. “Lady no,” he prayed. Eyes scanning the water, he failed to find any sign of their friend resurfacing.
Saying a prayer for the Lady to watch over Larus and not let him die, a warm comforting feeling settled over him. But such was his anxiety and fear caused by the sudden loss of Larus and the imminent peril posed by the merchantman, that he failed to consciously register the sensation.
With Father Thomas’ prayer still floating buoyantly in the air, Ftheril sought Larus in the water. To his surprise, he discovered him to be unhurt. Quickly deducing the plan of the former Qyaendri, Ftheril reoxygenated the air in Larus’ lungs, enabling him to remain submerged longer, then moved toward the ship.
The antipathy Theroch’s attending Qyaendri exuded at his approach was a palpable presence. But with no prayers giving him freedom of action, all he could do was glare. Hopefully the men on the merchantmen would believe Larus hit by an arrow and that his dead carcass was even now enroute to the lake’s bottom. Ftheril had to find a way to aid Larus in reaching the deck of the merchantman. Already men were up in the rigging furling the sails, slowing the ship. Sending his senses forward to the three men remaining in the small watercraft, he found the oars to have been brought in and the boat had come to a stop.
A quick scan of the deck of the merchantman revealed a long length of rope coiled at the base of the port side near the stern. Moving toward it he made sure no mortal would bear witness, then secured one end to the ship and tossed the other over the side.
“Don’t try anything funny,” a soldier at the ship’s side ordered the three men in the small boat.
Ftheril heard Father Thomas reply, “We will not.”
As the starboard side of the merchantman came alongside the smaller boat, the rope dangling over the port side suddenly went taught.
Father Thomas looked up at the archers with arrows directed toward him as the merchantman came alongside. A rope ladder was cast down and a soldier quickly descended into their boat. Drawing his sword, the soldier held it toward Garin and said, “Drop your weapons.”
Without hesitation, Garin unbuckled his sword belt and let it fall. A knife sheathe appeared from his waistband and that too joined the sword in the bottom of the boat.
Turning to Hunter the soldier asked, “Are you armed?” His question was met with a blank, though nervous, stare.
“Neither he or I are armed,” Father Thomas assured the Ullentite soldier.
The man gave them a quick visual check then directed Garin to climb the rope ladder. “You first,” the man said.
Garin moved to the ladder and began climbing up to the deck above. He could feel the eyes of the archers upon him as he ascended the rungs one at a time. Then as he reached the second rung from the top, all hell broke loose.
Men started crying out in surprise, pain, then ultimately fear. As the archers fell, Garin caught a glimpse of Larus. Wet hair pressed to the sides of his face and droplets of blood splattered across one cheek, his sword was quickly felling the men on deck like cordwood.
”Cear!” the soldier in the small boat shouted. “What’s happening?” Looking up toward the deck, the soldier knew something was going on but not what. Grabbing Father Thomas, he held him close all the while menacing him with his sword.
Garin quickly assessed the situation and knew the greatest threat at the moment was from the soldier who held Father Thomas. Up on deck Larus was wading through the enemy like an angel of death and didn’t look as if he needed any help. Then just as an Ullentite body flew over the side of the merchantman, he pushed outward from the hull, then fell toward the boat below.
Distracted by the falling body of his comrade, the soldier below failed to realize what Garin was doing in time to react. When he did, he barely had time to raise his sword before Garin slammed into him. The resulting impact knocked Father Thomas from the boat.
Immediately, Garin fought for control of the soldier’s sword. The soldier struggled against Garin’s attempts as they wrestled in the bottom of the boat. Hunter scrambled back out of the way when the fight for the sword brought it perilously close to impaling him.
Left hand grasping the wrist of the hand holding the sword, Garin’s right fist pummeled into the man’s face. Cartilage snapped as he broke the man’s nose. Then the soldier’s free hand slammed into the side of Garin’s head, slightly dazing him. But shaking it off, Garin spied his knife and sword where they lay not two feet away beneath the center bench. Still retaining a strong grip on the soldier’s swordarm, he reached for the knife. But in so doing, he opened himself up to another strike to the side of the head.
Vision blurring, he continued reaching for the knife. Again the soldier’s fist slammed into him just as his hand grasped the hilt of the knife. Spots appeared before his eyes and the world dimmed momentarily, but he now had the knife. Bringing back his arm to block another blow to the head, he then lashed out. Eyes widening in surprise, the soldier tried to ward off the attack but reacted too late. The knife sank into the soldier’s chest and the fight was over.
“Are you okay?”
Looking up, he saw Larus peering down from the deck of the merchantman. With streaks of blood intermixed with water dripping from his hair, he was a ghastly sight. A quick glance to where Hunter was helping Father Thomas from the water revealed they were both unhurt. “I think so,” he replied.
“Good. Once Father Thomas gets out of the water, help him and Hunter up to the deck,” Larus said. “We still have a ways to go.”
Glancing up to the rigging Garin asked. “Can we sail this?”
“Should be able to,” Larus replied. “Either way it’s still better than rowing along in that small boat.”
“You have a point there,” Garin agreed.
“Hunter,” Larus said, “take the helm.”
Casting a look to the wheel, Hunter nodded and replied, “Aye, aye Captain.”
To Father Thomas Larus said, “Keep a look out for any more boats.”
“I shall do so,” assured the priest. Moving to the center of the boat, Father Thomas began casting his gaze back and forth over the water.
Larus and Garin began raising sail and when the wind filled the canvas, the merchantman began to move. “Hunter,” Larus shouted, “head southeast.”
“Southeast?” Hunter asked. “I thought Xith was more directly to the south.”
“It is,” replied Larus. “But we need to move out of sight of those on the shore.” Indeed, there were quite a few Ullentite soldiers on the beach watching.
“Got you,” Hunter said. Turning the wheel, he soon had the boat moving at an angle away from the shoreline.
After tying off the rope used in controlling the amount of sail deployed, Larus joined Father Thomas. “Anything?” he asked.
Shaking his head, Father Thomas replied, “No.”
Judging by the sun, it was a little past noon. “We could be there in a couple hours if the wind holds,” Larus surmised.
Next to him, Father Thomas nodded. “It will be good to at last reach the city and have Hunter do that which he is destined to do.”
Staring out across the water in search of other enemy crafts, Larus wondered just what part the ring had to play in all this. Every attempt to activate any latent powers it may hold met with failure time and again. He was certain Hunter and the ring had to reach Xith, all signs pointed toward that goal. Larus simply wished he knew what was going to happen.
Disturbing his reverie, Garin appeared at his side. “You sure took those archers out fast,” he said in admiration.
Larus just shrugged. “They were so intent on capturing you three that I was upon them before they realized their danger,” he explained. “By the time they did, it was too late.”
“Still, it was quite a feat of swordsmanship,” the young man insisted.
“I suppose so,” Larus replied.
Time passed and the shore eventually disappeared into the horizon behind them. Hunter was less than perfect in his steerage of the boat, for Larus twice had to correct his heading as Hunter tended to drift more to the west than south.
“I’m doing the best I can,” Hunter exclaimed defensively after the second course correction.
Larus grinned. “When land comes into view again your job will be easier,” he assured.
“Either way, I’m having a heck of a good time.” Standing at the helm with the large circular steerage wheel grasped in both hands, he felt just like a pirate right out of the Age of Sail. For a time he was able to put what lay ahead of them once they reached Xith to the back of his mind and just enjoy sailing across the water.
